The Children of Winter
by GirlWithTheRedSoxCap
Summary: In which Catelyn Stark watches as her children grow up, fight wars, and fall in love. ASoIaF AU and canon divergence. Also on Wattpad and AO3. Rating will go up. I only own the plot, my two Stark OCs, and the other OCs. Robb x Margaery / Jon x Myrcella / Sansa x Theon / Arya x Aegon / Bran x Shireen / Rickon x Lyanna
1. 0 Characters & Introductions

**Robb & Margery**

In which a boy who never wanted to be a king and a girl who always dreamed of being the queen find out that there is more to titles than just words.

 **Jon & Myrcella**

In which a brooding boy who has never truly belonged and a golden girl who has never known the truth discover that maybe being a bastard isn't so awful after all.

 **Sansa & Theon**

In which a promiscuous boy and a girl who dreams of fairytales have been friends since childhood. But now they have grown up and are forced to acknowledge that changing your ways is harder then seems, but sometimes it can be worth it.

 **Arya & Aegon**

In which a headstrong girl who is definitely not a princess and a confident prince who may or may not be an asshole enjoy bickering a bit too much, and learn to admit that maybe having feelings isn't such a terrible thing after all.

 **Bran & Shireen**

In which a boy who can't walk has strange dreams and a runaway princess who bears scars on her face learn that flaws are the best parts of people.

 **Lyanna & Rickon**

In which a wild boy and an opinionated girl who both have to grow up too fast, regain their lost childhoods.

 **Leo & Tess**

In which a boy who has only ever followed the rules and a girl who lives to break them begin to understand that a bit of rebellion can be useful, but too much can be disastrous.

 **Lyra & Jax**

In which a girl who has never been taken seriously and a boy with far too much responsibility discern that sometimes it's alright to ask for help.


	2. 1 Bastards & Innocents

**I / Of Bastards & Innocents.**

 **Catelyn**.

Catelyn Tully Stark lay in her bed, her hand circling her swollen stomach. The baby was due in less than a moon, and she was grateful that Ned would be here to welcome their child into the world.

This pregnancy was harder than her last two. The baby seemed to be always moving and kicking.

"Wolfsblood." Ned had told. "The babe will be wild and willful."

Catelyn hoped her husband was mistaken. Ned had just brought home Theon Greyjoy, bringing the total of children in their care to four, soon to be five. The boy was Balon Greyjoy's heir and was being kept as a ward at Winterfell to ensure his father's continued cooperation. Every time Ned rode off to war, he returned home with another child.

A child that wasn't hers.

She hated that boy. The boy who looked so much like Ned when Catelyn's own son did not. She knew it wasn't fair to hate the child, but she couldn't help it. A living, breathing reminder that the honorable Ned Stark wasn't so honorable after all. That he had loved some other women, and that maybe he still did.

She hoped this child would have the Stark looks.

Her husband turned over in his sleep. He hadn't been sleeping well since he had returned. After he had come from the Dorne with that little bastard boy, it had taken months before he could sleep soundly. It appears it would be the same this time as well.

"Lyanna."

Catelyn tuned. It had been only a murmur, but still, she could hear it.

"I'm sorry, Lya. I am so sorry. Please don't leave me. Please. You must live, if not for me than for him. He needs you; I need you." His voice grew in presence with every word.

Catelyn listened in shock. Ned never spoke of his sister. It hurt him too much.

Who had could have needed Lyanna more than Ned? Robert? No, Robert was in love with an idea, not the woman itself.

A pit began to grow in Catelyn's swollen stomach.

She had always known that Ned and Lyanna had been close.

She thought of Brandon, the man she had been supposed to marry before Robert started a war and Rhaegar left his wife. Brandon had often talked of his siblings, of little Benjen who dreamed of being a ranger in the Night's Watch. Of quiet Ned who was endlessly trying to keep his older brother out of trouble and failing. And of willful Lyanna who he had bragged was the best rider in all of the seven kingdoms.

The man who had died far too young and too tragically had told her how close Ned and Lyanna were. "Inseparable," Brandon had said.

Catelyn knew that Ned had loved his little sister more than anything else in the world and that when he had lost Lyanna, she left a hole that no one could ever fill.

Maybe it's not a memory. It could just be a nightmare.

But something in Catelyn knew otherwise.

The pain in her gentle husband's voice was all too real.

"No, Lya, please. Please don't die." He begged. And then to Catelyn's horror, he started crying, tears streaking in narrow rivets on his cheeks. Catelyn screwed her eyes shut, unable to watch and unable to move.

He let out a heart-wrenching sob. "I'll protect him, Lyanna. I promise." His voice broke at the last word.

And with that, Ned let out a gasp, his eyes flying open in shock. He sat up, careful not to wake his wife, who was pretending to be asleep. She didn't want to face him. What would she even say?

Ned rose from their bed, wrapping himself in a heavy cloak, and donning a pair of boots before leaving their chambers. She listened as his footfalls echoed down the corridor until he reached the end of the hall where all the Starks slept. She heard the large oak door to the bastard boy's chamber creek open and then fall shut.

Jon.

She once heard the little boy ask Ned who his mother was. Jon had called her mother, and she had harshly corrected him, her voice like the icy winds that blew through the Godswood. She left Ned to explain his actions to the confused little boy, unable to do so herself.

But when she turned the corner, she came to a stop and listened. Catelyn wanted to hear what Ned told his son, the one who had the Stark looks. Ned hadn't told her anything. He had refused to speak of it since she had asked him if the boy was Ashara Dayne's son. Ned had been betrothed to her before the Rebellion. Before the Lady of Starfall had thrown herself from a tower, shortly after Jon was born.

But his eyes had turned cold. "He is a Stark. That is all that matters."

She waited with bated breath. "I..." Her husband paused, uncertainty thick in his voice. "I loved her very much."

That was all he had told the boy. And it had broken her heart.

And now her heart broke again. Not for herself, but for her sweet, honorable Ned. And for the innocent little boy with black curls and Stark grey eyes who could never know the truth.

Ned had not lied.

The child was a Stark. And Ned had loved Jon's mother, more than Catelyn could have ever known.

"Oh Ned," she whispered into the darkness.

The boy may be a bastard, but he was not Ned's.

She didn't know how long she lay there before she drifted off into an uneasy sleep, her mind still swirling with thoughts of blue roses, a little bastard boy with dark curls, and a bed of blood.

And when she awoke a short while later, she still saw the bed of blood from her dreams. Only this time, the blood wasn't a dream, and it did not belong Lady Lyanna.

The blood was Catelyn's.


	3. 2 Spirit & Fighters

II. Spirit & Fighters.

 **Catelyn**.

Catelyn lets out a piercing cry.

A panic shoots through her. It was too soon, the babe wasn't due for nearly another moon. And there shouldn't be so much blood.

 _This is how Lyanna died._

In that instant, all she can picture is the motherless boy with her husband's solemn face.

Robb and Sansa's faces flash through her mind. They would grow up without her, and if the babe survived then they would too.

No.

Catelyn refused to be Lyanna. She wouldn't let that happen to Ned, not again. Her children would not grow up without a mother. Her babe would not die. Not today.

"Ned!" she calls out, as loud as she can through the pain, though it sounds more like a whimper. "Ned!"

The heavy thud of boots pounding against the stone floors ring through the hall. Ned bursts into the chamber to see her lying there, blood staining her nightgown and the sheets. The blood drains from her face.

And for a moment it's still. Then Catelyn screams. It feels as though a knife is being thrust through her, over and over again. _It_ never _hurt like this before_ , her panicked mind thinks.

"Guards! Get Maester Luwin now! Tell him the baby is coming."

A small head of dark curls peaks out from behind Ned's leg but before she can truly register his presence, another cry is wrenched from her throat and her vision blurs.

Maester Luwin rushes into the room, his chain crooked from being thrown on haphazardly. The nursemaids and servants behind him.

"Jon…"

If the boy hadn't looked terrified before he certainly does now. Something about the look in his wintry grey eyes when they fall upon her makes her heart hurt.

She hears her husband ordering one of the servant girls to take Jon back to his chambers, his scared little face blurring in her mind.

Her husband kneels beside her, someone tells him it would be best for him to leave but he ignores them, instead he wipes her brow with a cool cloth and gripes her hand.

He had been off fighting a war when Robb had been born, and he had waited outside the birthing chambers when Sansa had come into the world, but this time he was determined to stay.

This time it would be different.

He kisses her forehead and then places his own against it. "I'm here, Cat. Just breathe, my love. You'll be alright."

 _It's early,_ she wants to shout. _It's too early, please, I can't do this. I can't. I'm not ready._

When she feels the babe and Maester Luwin tells her to push, she whimpers and bites her lip. The handmaidens and Maester Luwin encourage her with calm words, assuring her that she's nearly done.

Catelyn sees red.

The babe cries are piercing throughout her chambers and suddenly she's aware of Ned stroking her auburn hair, the handmaidens wiping the child clean of the blood they both share, and the stinging ache between her thighs.

The sounds of her newborn babe ring her ears, and she can feel Ned's touch slipping farther and farther away.

"My baby…"

Ned's words drift by her.

 _…fighting spirit._

She hears is Maester Luwin's voice as it all begins to fade away.

 _…If she makes it through the night._

Catelyn sees black.


	4. 3 Grey Eyes & Realizations

Three: Grey Eyes & Realizations

Ned

Ned Stark refuses to move. He can't.

Catelyn Stark lays in the same four-poster bed unconscious, just has she has for the past day and a half.

Ned refuses to leave their chambers. He's terrified that if he leaves the room he'll return to find Catelyn gone.

He twines a lock of his wife's auburn hair around his finger. Catelyn's hair was the first thing he noticed about her. Ned can still remember it, the way her hair seemed to glow in the sunlight. Back when she stood at Brandon's side rather than his.

The same hair that adorns the heads of the two sleeping children down the hall. Unaware and innocent. Ned hasn't seen Robb and Sansa in two days, not since Catelyn gave birth but he has heard them. He listens to the stories Old Nan tells them before bed, Robb's curious questions as to his parents' whereabouts and Maester Luwin's skillful evasions.

The Lord of Winterfell scoops up the babe who has been resting a wooden cradle.

He cards a single finger through her single dark curl. Her curls aren't the same as Robb's. The girl's were chestnut rather than copper. Like Jon's.

The single dark curl stands out against her pale skin, a spill of ink against parchment.

 _She can fit in the palm of my hand,_ Ned marvels.

Ned doesn't remember Jon or Sansa ever being this small. And he never laid eyes on Robb until he was nearly half a year old.

She was born too soon, the midwife had explained.

It was why the infant was so small, so frail.

He wonders if she will always be tiny.

Robb had always been taller than most of the lads his age and Sansa not much shorter than Jon, despite the years between them.

 _She doesn't seem frail,_ he thinks, as the newborn babe stares up at him with the steely grey that characterizes House Stark.

Small, but not weak.

Maester Luwin remarked that she resembled him, while Robb and Sansa took after their lady mother.

The little girl did have look of the Starks, with their wintery grey eyes and dark curls.

 _She does have my look._ Ned thinks.

 _And father's, and Brandon's and Lyanna's_. But he never said that part aloud.

Ned's chest tightens. _I can't lose her. I can't have another pair of grey eyes close forever, haunting me. Not again_.

The babe stares at back at her father, defiant, as she if she knows what he is thinking and is affronted by it. "You're a fighter, aren't you, little wolf?" He whispers to the bundle in his arms. His daughter gurgles in agreement. "Winter is hard, but the Starks endure. And so will you." He smoothes down her single dark curl. "There is wolfs blood in your veins." He swears that the babe smiles at him. "You are too stubborn to go down without a fight."

And with that, she opens her mouth and lets out a cry. Startled by the noise, Ned rocks her back and forth trying to calm her, but still, his little wolf howls on.

Ned desperately tries to remember what Catelyn would do when the others cried.

Rob had been a happy child, and when he cried, the mere sight of Catelyn had usually calmed him. Sansa had rarely complained, she was quiet and demure. And when she did it, she sounded more like a sad song than the howling cries her sister was currently making.

Ned thinks he can count on one hand the number of times he heard Jon cry. The boy had always been solemn little thing. As if he was all too aware of the darkness surrounding his birth.

"Hush now, love," he tries. "You'll wake your sibling up."

Still, she cries.

"Please? For me?"

Her wails become slightly softer, not that it helps much. How can someone so small make such a loud sound?

He will need to inform Maester Luwin that he no longer need be concerned about her lungs being underdeveloped.

"Ned?" a voice croaks.

He whips around to see his wife struggling upright on feeble arms. "No, Cat," he rushes to her side, trying to get her lay back and calm the restless child at the same time. He fails at both, for both of them are stubborn and carry on.

Like mother like daughter.

"Give me my child, Ned."

"Please lie back, Cat."

"Eddard."

Ned complies, handing over the squalling bundle of blankets. He always does when his wife uses his full name. It makes the Lord of Winterfell feel like Robb, being scolded for swiping sweets from the kitchen or throwing snowballs at his sister.

"A girl." He tells her, gingerly placing the squalling bundle in her outstretched arms.

"She has the Stark look."

"Aye."

She holds the little girl to her breast, gently shushing her, whispering sweet nothings into her dark hair until the babe quiets and peers up at her mother with curious grey eyes.

"What does Maester Luwin say?" His wife whisper's, her blue eyes never straying from the bundle in her arms.

"That she was born early."

Catelyn looks up at her solemn husband; her Tully blue eyes lit with indignation.

"I am quite aware of that seeing as I was present for the birth."

He nods helplessly. "I remember."

"Good. Now tell me what the Maester said when I was no longer… present. Coddling me will do no good."

Ned gaze shifts nervously around the room.

"Please, Ned."

He sighs and rubs a hand down his long face. "He says that because she was born so soon, she didn't have enough time to grow. That she is small, too small. He is worried that she may not…"

"May not be strong enough?"

Ned swallows, giving a barely perceptible nod, not meeting his wife's gaze.

Catelyn's gaze shifts back to her daughter.

"He's wrong," she whispers.

The Lord of Winterfell looks up at that, his grey eyes meeting her blue ones. "The other night, before she was born, you told me that she had wolfsblood. Fierce and wild and willful." She smiles down at her daughter. "Look at her, Ned. She's a fighter. And I have never known a Stark to give up without a fight."

Ned looks at her like she was a rare miracle.

This woman whom he married as barely more than strangers, out of duty rather than love. But it didn't feel like duty, not anymore.

Catelyn was beautiful, she has always been beautiful, but now, watching her with her auburn waves having long since fallen loose of their braid, swirling around her like flames, as she hums a tune and rocks her daughter, their daughter.

He watches the scene desperately trying to sear it into his mind because he does not ever want to forget this moment.

"I love you."

His voice is hushed, soft, as if he were speaking inside a sept.

The words should sound foreign to him, but they don't. The words sound like home.

Catelyn looks over at him, her soft smiling growing until it's all he sees.

"I love you too."

Ned leans over, his torso angled awkwardly so as not crush her or the babe, and kisses her, Catelyn's lips rising to meet his.

He tangles his hand in her auburn waves while leaning on the other one his body twisted uncomfortably so as not crush the babe between them. Catelyn's lips are chapped, and his beard scratches her cheeks.

It is raw and flawed and real, like them.

They only break apart when the babe between them wakes with a howl.

Catelyn pulls away with a small laugh.

"I think our little wolf may be hungry."

Ned chuckles at that. "I wish you luck. It took the wet nurse nearly three hours to get her to feed. Claimed she was the most stubborn babe she ever nursed."

Catelyn shakes her head in mock exasperation at the crying little girl. "You will never make things easy for us, will you?"

And Ned swears he sees his daughter smile.


	5. 4 Sisters & Promises

IV.

Sisters & Promises.

Catelyn.

The next morning Robb and Sansa come bursting into their parents' chambers, chattering excitedly about their new little sister.

The Robb helps to lift little Sansa onto the bed before he clambers up after her.

"What's her name?" Robb asks.

"Arya, for your grandmother," Ned tells him.

"And the queen! Queen Arya Stark ruled the North before Aegon and his dragons came. She was the only Queen to rule the North in her own right. Does this mean baby Arya is going to be a queen too?"

"That's not fair!" Sansa pouts. " _I_ want to be the queen!"

"Arya isn't going to be a queen, sweetling." Her mother assures her. "She's going to be a lady."

"She doesn't _look_ like a lady," Robb remarks.

"Lady's have beautiful long hair," Sansa adds in a matter of fact tone. "And she's bald, except for some black hair in the middle."

Ned laughs. "Her hair will grow. When you were born, you didn't have any hair at all."

Robb laughs at this and Sansa sticks her tongue out at him. "It's rude to mock a lady." She tells him a prim tone.

"But it's fun to mock my sister." He quips back, a twinkle in his eye.

Catelyn sighs and cuts Sansa off before she has a chance to respond. "Go run along, both of you."

"Yes, mother."

They scamper off the bed and out the door. Robb exits the room, tugging Sansa's hand. "Come on, let's go play. Sansa can be the maiden in the tower and I'll be the knight who rescues her. And Jon can be the dragon!" It is then that Catelyn notices Jon standing in the doorway. The boy turns to follow the redheads but Catelyn stops him. "Jon." She calls out, "come here."

"Can we still play without him?" Sansa asks, looking up at her older brother.

Robb nods and takes Sansa hand, heads down the corridor. "Of course, we'll just ask Theon to play instead. He can be the dragon, or maybe a sea monster!"

Sansa giggles and their footsteps fade down the hall.

Jon looks up nervously, unaccustomed to having the Lady of Winterfell address him so directly. Up until then Catelyn has always made a point to ignore the boy simply doing her best to pretend that the bastard didn't exist. "Come here and meet your new sister."

Jon glances to Ned unsure, but his father only nods. "Go on."

He walks over, his eyes hesitant.

"It's alright." The woman reassures him. "Sit down."

The dark-haired boy sits on the edge of the bed, as far away from Catelyn as he can.

"You can't hold her if you're all the way down there, now can you?" The boy shakes his head and scoots closer. "Hold out your arms." Jon does as he is bid.

Then Catelyn careful places the infant in his arms showing him how to support her head and instructing him to hold her close. He stares down at the red-faced bundle in awe. Arya waves her fist at him before clutching on to his finger with a steel grip. A laugh bubbles from her mouth, as does Jon's.

"She likes you."

Ned watches them, a look of sorrow and nostalgia on his face, as he sinks down onto the bed next to Catelyn, who leans back into him.

"She doesn't look like Robb and Sansa." The young boy remarks, not tearing his gaze away from the squirming bundle in his arms.

"You're right. She takes after her father, she has the Stark look while Sansa and Robb look more like my family."

Ned looks at the scene before him with wistful eyes. "She looks like Lyanna." He whispers, his voice cracking at the last syllable.

"They both do," Catelyn replies.

Ned's eyes leap from the children to look at his wife.

But Catelyn avoids her husband's gaze and turns back to the young boy in front of her. "Look to me, Jon."

The little boy looks at her, expression solemn and at that moment, he looks so like Ned. But Catelyn can see the subtle differences between the two. The Jon's cheeks bones and jaw are more delicate and refined, while Ned and Brandon and Benjen's were squared and harsher. The shape of his eyes is different too, less round, she can see a faint trace of violet amidst the grey in his eyes when the sunlight hits them. "Arya is your little sister and it is your responsibility to protect her. Can you do that?"

The boy nods, looking far too serious for his age. "Yes, my lady. I promise."

She smiles at him. "Good." Jon's gaze returns to Arya and Catelyn smoothes his curls.

"Your fifth name day is today, is it not?"

"Yes, my lady, that is correct. It's almost the same as baby Arya's."

"Now, I know Robb was gifted sword for his name day a few moons back, and that you would like one as well, but I thought perhaps we could gift you something else."

The boy looks crestfallen at the news that he would not be receiving a sword like his half-brother, though he does his best to hide his disappointment. "Of course. Whatever you believe is fitting, my lady."

"I was thinking, that instead of a sword, a name. How about Jon Stark. Would you like that?"

The boy's expression changes in an instant, his eyes bright and he nods vigorously, his smile threatening to eclipse his face. "Yes, I would like that very much!"

"It's settled then. Now, your sister needs her rest. Go run along and play with the others."

The boy places Arya back in her mother's arms with such tenderness and care, that Catelyn's can feel her heart clench. "Thank you, my lady." She smiles at the boy and gives a small nod before he runs out of the room as fast as his small legs can carry him.

"Robb! Robb! You will never guess what I am getting for my name day! It's even better than your sword!" The boy shouts down the hallway.


End file.
